


we rattle this town

by aegyofairy



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Road Trips, Slow Burn, sanji is a stylist but still loves food, they were roommates, zoro goes back to japan and sanji tags along, zoro is a kendo champ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegyofairy/pseuds/aegyofairy
Summary: Sanji’s hair looks lighter under the sun, more golden, framing his face nicely and making his blue eyes look like crystal drops of water. Aside from the smell of smoke that clings to him, the cigarette held between two fingers on his left hand while he drives, Zoro thinks he might smell nice.The swordsman almost tells him this one night, after ten shots and four beers, but he thinks better of it.And now they’re here.{zoro goes back to japan due to a family crisis and sanji tags along, both struggling with growing feelings and a lack of boundaries, what could possibly go wrong?}
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	we rattle this town

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from anna sun by walk the moon which was all the inspiration i needed to make this story.

**Present Day – Somewhere on the outskirts of Kitakyushu, Fukuoka**

Zoro has his feet propped up on the dashboard, a worn down map sprawled open across his lap and spilling to the floor. “It says to keep driving along this road,” he follows the trail on the map with the tip of his finger, the sun glimmering in his eyes as he squints down and readjusts the crinkled paper, “…I think.”

“You have the map right in front of you, how do you not know which way we’re supposed to go?” Sanji moves a hand off the wheel to try and wrestle the map off Zoro’s lap but he holds it out of reach, crumpling it more in spots as he bats Sanji’s hand away.

It’s at times like these where – even if neither of them says it – they desperately wish Nami was with them. She would be able to lead them back from hell itself, they were sure. But for now, it’s just the two of them, traveling through a country they don’t know all too well, with high expectations of getting lost along the way.

The blond taps more ash from his cigarette off, where it’ll land on the carpet of the car and be ground in later forever adding to the ashen smell of the vehicle, an irritated look on his face as he goes back to driving, “We’re switching at the next rest stop.”

“We’re not.”

“We _are_.”

“Are _not_.”

Two years ago, a back-and-forth like this would have had Zoro and Sanji at each other’s throats. But so much can change in such a short time. And right now – stuck in a car with nothing but each other – there are small smiles on their faces, the sun beating down on them as they travel along a road that might heal them both.

Sanji’s hair looks lighter under the sun, more golden, framing his face nicely and making his blue eyes look like crystal drops of water. Aside from the smell of smoke that clings to him, the cigarette held between two fingers on his left hand while he drives, Zoro thinks he might smell nice. The swordsman almost tells him this one night, after ten shots and four beers, but he thinks better of it.

And now they’re here.

The sun isn’t just doing favors for the blond though, because the rays of warm light are bringing out the gentlest golden undertones to Zoro’s olive skin and Sanji wants to reach out to him sometimes. He wonders if Zoro is soaking up the sun, if he feels warm to the touch, if he would smile that warm quiet way at Sanji. But those thoughts will lead him nowhere, he’s sure, so he takes another drag of his cigarette and prays to god that one day he’ll wake up and Zoro won’t look so goddamn tempting. Unlikely but, a guy can hope.

Not even thirty minutes later after the map fiasco, they find a place to get gas. Sanji pulls in and steps out to fill the tank up, Zoro is steadfastly pretending to be asleep because god forbid if Sanji tried to force him to take the wheel. in the end it was going to be an empty threat anyways because Zoro drives like a hundred-year-old man and Sanji would ultimately rather tuck and roll out of the car, saving himself the annoyance and embarrassment of getting passed up repeatedly by other cars.

Once the tank is being pumped full of gas, Sanji spares a glance back at the car to find the passenger seat empty. He doesn’t even bother getting annoyed, Zoro wanders off enough that Sanji expects it at this point. If they were in a more populated area he’d worry, but there’s nothing around for miles aside from this small gas station with a store for anyone passing through.

The machine makes funky noises and Sanji tilts his head towards the sky, a cigarette at his lips, puffing smoke out into the cloudless hazy pink view. It’s about time for the sun to set, a chill coming in as oranges and pinks bathe their surroundings.

Zoro takes his time in the little convenience store attached to the gas station. It’s different from the ones he’s used to in the states but nicer, more substantial food choices but probably just as bad health wise. He snags two bento boxes, packed in containers with pop off lids and wooden chopsticks, some on-the-go snacks they can eat and hot drinks for them both. There are cigarettes behind the counter, an all too familiar brand displayed on the last shelf in the case. Zoro buys two cartons, knowing full well that Sanji’s down to his last pack, he tells himself it doesn’t mean a thing.

By the time the swordsman makes it back to the car, Sanji’s third to last cigarette is almost burned down to the yellow band. The wind leaf’s through his hair and tugs at Zoro’s clothes, both dressed for summer when it’s much closer to fall, raising goosebumps on their skin.

“Walk faster or I’m leaving you.” Sanji calls, the gas station so empty that his voice echoes softly, as he smoothly flicks the cigarette on the floor and grounds it in with his heel, getting back into the car with no real intentions of leaving Zoro.

He hopes.

It’s not that far of a distance from the convenience store to the car but Zoro still livens up his pace. He doesn’t think Sanji will really leave him at a gas station on the outskirts of Fukuoka. But he is ninety percent sure Sanji might, if he’s feeling particularly devilish, start the car and drive at a slow enough pace that Zoro will have to jog in the hopes of catching up. Thankfully, Sanji’s in a merciful mood today and Zoro’s fast walking gets him to the car and scrambling inside in record time.

When Zoro’s made himself comfortable in the passenger seat again, he tosses Sanji a familiar black can. The warmth is soothing against the chill they felt earlier, he cracks it open with a soft thanks as Zoro hums and unscrews the cap of his own warm green tea drink, Sanji doesn’t bring up the fact that the coffee drink is his favorite. That he wouldn’t have drank tea if Zoro had bought it for him, instead he chooses to file that information away and wonder about it some other time. Maybe when he isn’t running on only five hours of sleep.

Once they’re back on the main road it takes some maneuvering of the map and some shoddy directions brought to you by Zoro before Sanji hears the snap of plastic.

Zoro wastes no time popping a piece of tempura in his mouth, the crunch almost as satisfying as the taste, forgoing the chopsticks altogether and any form of etiquette given. He figures it’s excusable since they’re in a car, traveling through Japan on one of the longest road trips either of them has ever taken.

But it’s really wishful thinking on his part that makes him believe for one second Sanji – who lives and breathes fine dining, who can’t go out to eat anywhere without a thorough background check, whose life revolves around food and it’s appreciation – will let it slide. 

He can _feel_ the blond giving him the side-eye of judgement, “Do you even know how to _use_ chopsticks, Marimo?”

Zoro squints, chews thoughtfully, “I’m Japanese.”

Using chopsticks is second nature for him, since he’s used them his whole life even after moving to the states as a child, his culture stuck with him through and through. The language, the history, all of it was essential to his upbringing since his mother was adamant about keeping him informed enough not to lose what was important to them after leaving Japan. 

But it pisses Sanji off when he uses his hands to eat and that’s way more rewarding. “Do you want your food or not?”

Sanji’s silence is enough of an answer and Zoro grins triumphantly to himself as he drags out a packaged spicy tuna onigiri, unwrapping the cellophane and handing it over to Sanji, leaving the blond to decide how he’s going to balance his freshly lit cigarette, the onigiri and driving all at once.

It takes about a minute before he gives up even trying, taking a hefty bite of the onigiri in Zoro’s outstretched hand, basically forcing the other man to feed him. It’s not such a bad situation actually, “Thanks.” he mumbles, once all that’s left of the onigiri is the cellophane wrap it came in.

Zoro gives a noncommittal hum, throwing their garbage in the plastic bag he’d bought everything in, before leaning back in his seat and letting his eyes fall shut. There’s nothing before them but the same view of huddled mountains, swirling green, and the open stretch of sky that’s fallen from vibrant orange to a deep rich sea of sapphire with glittering specks of hot white light in the form of stars.

Soft snoring noises fill the car almost as soon as Zoro closes his eyes, Sanji lets him sleep. He drives carefully through the night, more vigilant than usual. He drives like any small bump might wake Zoro up, which is exactly what he wants to avoid.

It’s typical for Sanji to almost require someone to talk with him constantly during long rides or on public transport (case in point, their plane ride had gone by with comments aplenty from Sanji and him chatting with almost every stewardess to Zoro’s annoyance) but right now Zoro getting some sleep is his main priority. 

Ever since they landed at Kansai Airport and started their journey, Zoro hasn’t slept for more than thirty minutes at a time. This includes their stay at a small inn the previous night – day two of their trip – where Sanji was able to collapse onto one of the beds and succumb to sleep immediately. But when he woke in the middle of the night, instead of Zoro’s typical deep snoring, all that met his ears was silence.

The sliding doors leading out to their small balcony was cracked open and all Sanji saw was Zoro’s silhouette through the thin near-translucent drapes. The sheets of the other man’s bed were hardly touched, barely slept in, and before he realized, a sense of uneasiness had washed through him.

All he could offer was the comfort of being there. He had stepped out to join Zoro, sleep seeming less important as soon as he saw the relief in his eyes when Zoro turned to face him. They stood out there until the chill was too much for either of them. They fall into bed together that night, sharing warmth, but neither of them speak about it in the morning.

It’s their version of normal.

It hasn’t always been this way between them, especially not in the beginning when Sanji would rather passive aggressively make dinner at 1AM rather than share a meal with the swordsman let alone the same space, but this is what makes it even more miraculous. Despite everything – starting off on the wrong foot, being thrown together unwillingly, never wanting to back down or lose an argument – they worked through most of their differences and now both are glad to be a part of the others life.

With Zoro around he never has to worry about killing insects and spiders. He has someone to spar with when the mood hits him right. He can make any dish he wants and never worry about making too much, Zoro isn’t the least bit picky. They do laundry together so Sanji never has to worry that he doesn’t have enough of one color (though all Zoro’s clothes come in either navy green, black or white with very little variation) and whenever there’s nothing on TV he can coax Zoro into a conversation that ends with the other falling asleep on the couch. It’s a nice situation they have going. 

They even have this calendar hanging on the wall of their kitchen. It has doctors’ appointments scheduled and their work hours all written in alternating markers of green (zoro) and purple (sanji) so they know each other’s schedules by heart, and there’s a bowl by the front door that houses their keys. It used to be hard to tell them apart given how simple and un-decorated their sets were, but then Sanji happened to find this little keychain of a sword at a nick-knack store while shopping with Nami. He’d bought it thinking Zoro would get a kick out of it, and he had. But that keychain now has a place on Zoro’s keyring, and he takes it everywhere with him. Sanji tries not to smile every time he sees it.

Sanji’s work schedule has him home most nights, though his appointments smattering of random hours and days that’s as complicated to decipher as a code. Zoro’s dojo on the other hand is perfectly scheduled each week and fitted to take up a good portion of each day whether it’s mid-day classes on Wednesdays and Fridays or early morning weekend sessions.

Scheduling aside, all Sanji really cares about is that every time Zoro walks through the door he says, “I’m home.” He holds those words so close to his heart it’s almost sad. _I’m home_.

Whether he’s reading a book in the living room, watching tv sprawled on the couch or in the kitchen, Sanji always says, “Welcome back.”

It’s their normal.

Zoro wakes to a hand on his shoulder, Sanji gently shaking him, the stylist is the only one who can ever wake him up without pissing him off. It’s something about the way Sanji coaxes him back to wakefulness, it makes Zoro want to come back from whatever dream he’d been chasing in sleep.

The sky outside is darker than it was when he fell asleep, but the stars are still so bright, trees and houses surrounding them now instead of the empty road, and Zoro takes a few moments to blink the sleep out of his eyes. The grogginess still setting in, just like the kink in his neck from slouching in a car seat and napping for the last however long.

“We there already?”

“Almost,” Sanji says, hand slipping off Zoro’s shoulder and the swordsman misses the contact already.

He stretches, knocking an elbow against the window, straightening in his seat and noticing that they are _not_ at the dojo, “What do you mean _almost_?”

“We’re about ten minutes out.”

Zoro glimpses the familiar layout of the town he grew up in, stepping out of the car and feeling an ache in his legs and the relief of fresh air, “Why?”

Sanji steps out next, blowing smoke out in a steady stream, “It’s late. You really want to see them again when you’ve barely slept? One more night isn’t going to matter.”

They might. It’s all Zoro can think, the anxiety settling in again, feeling like every second counts. Irritation sets in, tension in his shoulders, and he has half a mind to yell at the blonde because they’re _so close_ and what if the worst happens? What if they come all this way and…

“We’ll see them in the morning,” Sanji tells him, voice closer now, his elbow nudging Zoro in the side, making Zoro look at him, “stop your worrying, let’s just get some rest tonight.” 

If someone had told him five years ago that Sanji of all people would be able to speak reason into him, would even be willing to think about his wellbeing when Zoro wasn’t thinking about his own at all, “Fine, you win.”

Sanji’s brow rose, a smile on his lips, “Oh? Can I get that in writing, maybe an audio recording, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before. I think I need a moment.”

“You’re an idiot.”

_Your idiot_ , a tiny voice in Zoro’s head corrects, but Sanji isn’t _his_. That’s an even more unsettling thought than it ever was before and Zoro ignores the thoughts pulling at him. It’s for the best.

The minshuku in front of them is different from the typical ryokan someone might find in a large city, but it’s more comforting for a small town. The gravel crunched under their shoes, the wind whispering through the trees standing tall around them, the smell of fresh air and the glow from the windows as they approached warmed something in Zoro. It was a longing that hadn’t registered yet but now settled on him startlingly so.

Now, taking everything in, Zoro felt the familiarity settle back into him. An ache in his body soothed after being away for so long, the tiredness in him was still there and the stress of the days to come but all of this was lessened by the realization which finally settled: _home, this is home_.

Sanji too was beside him this time and there was an eagerness, one Zoro didn’t often show for many things, to show his roommate this part of his life. Sanji already knew him well enough, the little quirks and oddities of Zoro’s, but this environment was all new and in their short journey through airports and car rentals, he’d seen glimpses of the swordsman in a light wholly different from his presence back home.

“You grew up here?” Sanji already knows the answer, but there’s a marveling lilt to his words as he looks around one last time at the night bathing their surroundings.

Zoro smiles fondly, warmth touching his eyes and his lips as he nods ever so proudly.

He remembers it all so well. No amount of years spent away from this place could ever take away Zoro’s love for his home. The hills which he would tumble down with Kuina, the lakes and beaches where he’d wade into till the water touched his thighs, there were places in town he distinctly remembers playing hide and seek at, then there was the familiarity of everyone around town. It was a close-knit group of people, everyone busying themselves with their own lives but leaving just enough space in their hearts for any strays.

The warmth that fills him up doesn’t fade and Sanji watches him with a look so tender, he’s glad Zoro is too busy to notice.

When they check into the ryokan, the owner’s wife recognizes Zoro immediately, Sanji has the joy of watching him look flustered for a whole five minutes. The seconds drag by, he’s sure the swordsman would rather crawl under a rock than face the questionings of a fan.

She has a son who apparently follows in Zoro’s footsteps, eager to be a champion himself. Sanji listens to her speak – Zoro briefly translating the lengthier bits where the woman eases back into Japanese – entertained as Zoro comes to peace with the fact that people might be familiar with him here. He didn’t have to worry about attention or spotlight back home, not when most his competitions were elsewhere and despite being a member of the national kendo affiliation, he still remained true to his original nationality; representing Japan just as he had in his youth when he was just blossoming into the field. Not much had changed.

The woman, after expressing her joy that they would be staying over at their minshuku, tells them that their stay is on the house this time. Just if Zoro wouldn’t mind autographing something for her son. Sanji hides his grin and Zoro rolls his eyes but gives his autograph.

It's always funny to see Zoro deal with fans, not that it happens often enough, but it still brightens up Sanji’s day. If only because of the myriad of different possibilities. Though no matter what kind, Zoro is always humble and a tad bit shy whenever a kid or fellow competitor wants him to sign something.

The first time Sanji had watched it happen – just over five years ago but as fresh as if it were yesterday in his head – Zoro was competing and they were all in the stands watching him. The rowdiness of the crowd spoke volumes but the calm which fell over and emanated from those on the mats, about to compete, was infectious. He had watched Zoro the entire time, not just on the mats, but when he stepped to the sidelines and took his headgear off to take a swig from his water bottle. His eyes trailing after the swordsman unconsciously.

When he thought about it, back then and even now, there was just never anyone else worth watching. Even before these odd feelings began to spring up.

Zoro had been approached by a younger competitor, someone whose career in kendo was still new, and Sanji had watched (while the rest of their friends chatted and joked, completely unaware) as Zoro _floundered_. He looked like a fish out of water, the confidence he oozed simply diminished to half in an instant, and Sanji had watched with a quiet joy, a smile hidden in the palm of his hand, as the kid (the fellow competitor) had animatedly spoken to Zoro. He was clearly a fan. And how Zoro had signed the hilt of a practice sword, a stiffness chalked up to nerves surrounding him.

All in all, kind of an awkward moment for Zoro but to Sanji…he would never forget the look on his face after the kid had turned away. There was the subtlest hint of pride, a small smile, as Zoro had looked at the other competitions going on. As Sanji had watched Zoro. Immune to the way Luffy shouted by his ear, or Nami’s elbow to his side and a hand in front of his face pointing out a heated competition on the other side of the auditorium, even Ace’s laughter and the subsequent bickering of the two brothers over food, had done nothing to pry away his attention. Even then.

The owner’s wife leads them to their room all the while Zoro translates whatever he feels necessary, Sanji isn’t really paying attention to the details though. He’s too focused on the rich undertone to Zoro’s voice. He’s used to the way the swordsman speaks, slightly rough, quietly, because he doesn’t need to speak loudly to command the attention deserved. Sanji’s used to _that_ Zoro, but in Japanese his voice takes on a whole new undertone, something that rumbles and touches his soul.

It sends shivers down his spine at one point, when Zoro touches his arm to guide him down the right hallway, and Sanji fights the urge to desire this closeness. It’s silly of him. It won’t lead anywhere good. He tells himself this every single day and yet it never seems to matter.

“I already told Kuina we were in town, said we’d be over tomorrow before noon,” Sanji says, hair damp after bathing – which was a genuine _experience_ – as he takes their bedsheets from the closet. “she said to get some rest and that she can’t wait to knock you on your ass again.”

There’s a lot to be distracted by now, the pit of worry burrowing itself into the center of his chest and shrinking even his appetite, or the uncertainty of this new path because he’s not even sure how long they’ll stay. Too much is on his mind and yet Zoro still finds his eyes drifting to the way Sanji looks wearing jinbei. The forest green color of the set looks good against Sanji’s light skin, draws Zoro’s gaze like a moth to a flame.

It was never something he thought he’d get the chance to see for himself. Sanji, who wore pressed suits and button ups and now here he was in summer sleep clothes. In Zoro’s hometown. Almost fitting into the moment like he always belonged here. Sanji hadn’t even complained that the clothes were anything but fashionable – plain, simple and made for comfort was their purpose – it was a little hard for Zoro to handle truthfully.

Then, pulled from his reverie, Sanji’s words catch up to him and catch him off balance, “When did you talk to her?”

“You were asleep,” Sanji explains, looking up to see that Zoro is waiting for a little bit more than just vague excuses, he shrugs, “you don’t have a password on your phone, bastard, don’t give me that look.”

Zoro takes a few deep breaths, he’s annoyed but not as angry as he might have been years ago, there’s no simmering temper under the surface. Instead he just leans in closer, they aren’t so far apart that it’s difficult, and gives Sanji a flick to the forehead which isn’t very hard, yet the blond still yelps at.

“Don’t go touching my things when I’m sleeping,” he warns, but there’s nothing mean about his words and while Sanji rubs at his forehead feigning being hurt, there’s a smile on his face to match Zoro’s own.

They fix up their futons in relative silence, pilling the blankets high from the chill specifically in these old rooms. It’s normal to catch a draft even in summer when the air still turns light once the world grows dark outside. There light in the room is warm, shading them as they prepare their beds, Zoro already feeling calmer now knowing that he’s only a small car ride away from Kuina and his father. But his thoughts are still so loud, like pebbles being tossed against a window, clinking and clanking. Allowing for nothing else to be felt but this.

“Thank you,” he mentions after a moment, once the lights are off and they’re settled in their futons, “for calling her.”

“I just didn’t want to see you cry again.” Sanji teases, voice soft against the backdrop of leaves rustling and crickets chirping outside, Zoro turns his head to catch the smile on Sanji’s face.

He’s smiling too, “I wasn’t c _rying_.”

“It’s okay, they were very manly tears.”

“I _wasn’t_.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“A bastard that came all the way here,” Sanji says, gives it a moment for the tenderness of the statement to settle, and then adds a pointed, “so you wouldn’t cry some more.”

Zoro silences him with a pillow to the face, which Sanji shoves off with a puff of laughter that’s infectious and resonates from the swordsman as well.

“I mean it though,” Zoro says, turned on his side now to face the other man who feels so much closer than ever before, “thank you, for calling my sister, for coming with me, it’s made this whole thing easier to handle. I don’t know if I’d be doing so well otherwise.”

It’s the most Zoro’s ever said about this necessary adventure, but the honesty and heart in those words gives Sanji pause. He’s turned on his side too, face to face, maybe just an arm’s length away and then some. The world narrowed down to the pair, nothing but their breathing filling up the space between them and the unspoken words lingering just on the edge of their minds, two halves of one whole in a moment frozen by time.

“What are roommates for?” Sanji says after some time, voice quiet and thick, past the lump in his throat.

They aren’t for this, that’s for sure. 


End file.
